1 min read
Слушать(AI)The Woods Entry
So old is the wood, so old,
Old as Fear.
Wrinkled roots; great stems; hushed leaves;
No sound near.
Shadows retreat into shadow,
Deepening, crossed.
Burning light singles a low leaf, a bough,
Far within, lost.
Robert Laurence Binyon
Robert Laurence Binyon, CH (10 August 1869 – 10 March 1943) was an English poet, dramatist and art scholar. Born in Lancaster, England, his pare
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
The Renewal
No more of sorrow, the world's old distress, Nor war of thronging spirits numberless, Immortal ardours in brief days confined, No more the languid fever of mankind To--day I sing: 'tis no melodious pain Cries in me: a full note, a r...
Ah now this happy month is gone
Ah, now this happy month is gone, Not now, my heart, complain, Nor rail at Time because so soon He takes his own again He takes his own, the weeks, the hours,
One Year Old
Is it we that are wise, is it we, Who have bought with a price of grief A wisdom seldom free From scorn or disbelief, Who find this world fulfil An end that is not our will, Who toil with the light in our eyes Showing us scarce begu...
The Zeppelin
Guns far and near Quick, sudden, angry, They startle the still street, Upturned faces appear,